


Just the Sound of Your Voice

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Wonder(ful) Years Verse [15]
Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another timestamp for the Wonder(flu) Years ‘Verse. It’s 1993 and Neal Caffrey is an agent-trainee at the FBI Academy. He misses Peter, who has already been through the Academy and completed his probationary assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Sound of Your Voice

“Jeez, Caffrey – I don’t know why you haven’t gone blind with all the wanking you do, or how you ever manage to finish any of your coursework.”

Neal reluctantly pulled his hand out of his pants. He hadn’t expected his roommate to return for another half hour. 

_And you should be one to talk, you over-privileged, over-entitled slacker._

“What are you doing back here, O’Donnell? You said you were going out for a run.” 

Walter dropped to his bed and pulled off his running shoes. “It’s too cold out. Only the kiss-ups and masochists are out there today.”

Neal sighed. Walter O’Donnell was a nephew of a U.S. Senator and his admission to the FBI Academy was based more on his connections than his academic and physical qualifications. “You know that you’re going to have to finish the Yellow Brick Road for your final test, regardless of the weather - and since that’s going to be in February ...”

His roommate cut off the rest of Neal’s sentence. “Yeah, yeah. Surprised you aren’t out there - but I guess you’d rather stay inside on a Sunday afternoon and whack off to thoughts of your girlfriend.” O’Donnell sneered. 

From day one, Neal and O’Donnell rubbed each other the wrong way. Walter was planning on using his family connections to make it through training. Neal, on the other hand, was intent on obtaining every honor he could. That was the only way to ensure that he’d end up with an assignment in the same city as Peter.  
Walter changed into a pair of khakis and a long sleeved shirt with the Academy logo. “I’m heading over to the canteen. You can go back to … whatever you were doing.”

The door shut behind him, but Neal didn’t resume anything. Jerking off seemed so pointless, He hadn’t seen Peter since early October, just before starting his twenty weeks at the FBI Academy. Thank god that Uncle Joe and Aunt Cathy didn’t have a problem with them sharing a bedroom, and that said bedroom was on the other side of the house. 

But that was twelve weeks ago and Neal was lonely. It wasn’t like he could just call Peter, either. Nothing he wanted to say could be said from the public pay phone that the cadets were permitted to use. Besides, Peter was way too busy - he had finished his probationary assignment and had been given a spot on a major task force investigating securities and banking fraud. He didn’t have time to breathe, let alone chat with Neal.

The FBI had recruited Peter right out of business school, and that meant he was four years ahead of him. Neal’s age worked against him, too. He hadn’t been old enough to apply to the Academy when he finished law school, and despite his impressive education, the FBI insisted that he get at least three years of professional experience before granting him a spot at the Academy.

Here he was, three months into his training, with another two months to go. He missed Peter something terribly fierce. It wasn’t the same when Peter had been here at the Academy. Neal was working at a firm in D.C., and were able to get together on the weekends when liberty was granted to the cadets. Even though New York was only a three hour train ride away, Peter was working most weekends.

He had letters, though. Not that there was anything truly personal in them, since there was no guarantee that the mail wasn’t read before it was delivered. Neal supposed that this was rather a bit like prison, except that the doors didn’t lock him in and he didn’t have to worry about getting raped or shanked in the showers.

Neal sighed. He should be working on his thesis, an analysis of theft and possible disposition of thirteen major works of art from the Isabelle Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston the year he graduated law school. He wanted an assignment with Art Crime in New York, even though there hadn’t been a probie accepted by that division in nearly ten years.

Right now, he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on that or on any of the assignments due during the next few days. And his desire to wank had completely evaporated. Neal reached into the night table, under the box of tissues and pulled out a packet of letters. Some were actually from Mozzie, a few from Elizabeth, even a handful from Aunt Ellen. But most were from Peter. 

He was a surprisingly good correspondent, telling him about his day-to-day activities. That should have made for fairly boring reading, but Peter had a way of infusing even the most ordinary events with a bit of personal flair and humor.

_Today, a new batch of probies arrived. Was I ever that wet behind the ears? Mark this date on your calendar, I got to ask one them to get me coffee!_

_Not that my life is particularly glamorous. Lots of file review, lots of research. At least we’re getting a new computer system, which should make things easier. Except that my boss, Hughes, doesn’t put much stock in the new system. Not that he’s against technology - just that he figures it will be another government clusterfuck - like the system that cost the IRS five million dollars and is completely useless._

The letter went on like that for another few carefully handwritten pages. Neal ran a thumb over the loops and flourishes; Peter had exquisite penmanship. He paused as an old memory surfaced - a grade school assembly and a teacher handing out awards. He had won something for some artwork, but Peter got the award for best handwriting.

Neal smiled and folded the letter, carefully putting it back in the envelope and replacing the whole packet of letters back in the drawer. He checked the time - it was just before four. Even if Peter had to work today, he should be home by now. They might not be able to _really_ talk, but Neal desperately needed to hear the sound of his voice. Just Peter saying his name would be more satisfying than any amount of wanking.


End file.
